By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
Mean sister: I don't know why Erykah Badu receives all the positive publicity from the Dallas Observer ("Waiting for Erykah," by Robert Wilonsky, March 24). Perhaps you missed the show at the Forest Theatre when Ms. Badu and her sister, Nayrok, sang anti-war songs, calling out President Bush directly in their lyrics. Nayrok opened the show, lasting way too long, and was booed off the stage by the predominantly black crowd. Her '80s metal rock is amateurish and completely clashes with Badu's alleged theme of peace, love and enlightenment. Badu finally took the stage and preached for at least 10 minutes in between one of her songs, rambling and riding her weed high. A black woman in the audience, near the front of the stage, shouted: "Get on with the music!" And Badu immediately lashed back: "If you don't like it, sister, you can get the fuck on!!"
Somewhere in her anti-war rant, she actually said, "Fuck war! Fuck Bush!" and at the end of the crescendo: "Fuck white people! Lock the doors. We're going to have a revolution!" Wow. As one of the minorities there, I looked at my two other Caucasian friends, slunk against the wall, eyed the nearest exit and prepared for a lynching. The audience started filing out down the aisles while she tried to resurrect the positive energy of her set, but I'd guess that about 25 percent of the audience left the theater.
Anyway, do some more follow-ups to this story if you don't believe it. Badu is not all about the love. She's a panther in disguise. Check under her fake 'fro wig.
Editor's note: This is one man's version of what happened at this show. Were you there? If so, we'd like to hear from you. Write us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
It'll cost you pennies: Zac Crain's article "A Place of Their Own" (March 24), although compelling and well-written, can only scratch the surface of the non-empathetic society this great city has fostered. Although he does a good job of pointing out the homeless dilemma and SROs as a viable solution, the article would have quadrupled in size if he were to explore the root of the problem Larry James brings up, in Mr. Crain's last paragraph, "No one cares!"
The article suggests an $11,500 price tag for each of the 6,000 homeless would produce the necessary SROs and that current charity funding is equivalent to $10,000 per every homeless person. If Dallas were to raise its sales tax level by .0025, it would generate $12,484 each based on U.S. Census Bureau 1997 retail sales revenue. If the city of Arlington and Tarrant County are willing to raise their taxes to support professional sports millionaires, we in Dallas County can set the better example for North Texas by raising our taxes for the least of our brothers! This tax hike would mean citizens would have an increase in their sales taxes of about 8 cents a day. We need to become the caring city of the future.
What about the music: I guess I don't understand what a great band is. If you were to ask me prior to reading "Head Full of Beer" (by Michael Chamy, March 10), I would tell you a great band writes great music. I would tell you a great band puts on a great live show. I would tell you a great band releases great CDs that stay in your player for months...no, years at a time.
But now I've learned that I've got it all wrong. A great band drinks themselves into a stupor at every opportunity. A great band is seen as "loyal" to their scene. A great band tours a lot, makes a bunch of friends and eventually breaks up when they realize those same friends don't pay the rent. They must have been nice guys to have musicians torn up over their departure. But only one, in a small passing note, mentioned their music. Thinking back on Slobberbone brings up mainly images of passed-out drunks. Turn a different corner, and they'd be in jail for vehicular manslaughter. And we call that "great"? (Shrug.) I call that drunk. Don't get me wrong, drunk has its place. I like drunk. But when I think of great bands, even if they're drunks, I think first of their music. Such doesn't seem to be the case with Slobberbone.
Thanks for bashing the Fest: Hey, I'm in Skylines End. I'm not the singer; sorry, I know you really like him. I'm really glad you bashed Dallas Music Fest (Across the Bar, by Sarah Hepola, March 3)--it made us all very jaded about the whole Dallas scene. We sold more than 200 tickets to play a showcase in front of 20 people who weren't even listening, and if they were, we aren't metal so they didn't care. I thought the whole panel discussion was just an ignorant ramble about how we should run our bands. It was ridiculous. I don't mean to carry on, but thanks for bashing the Fest and Strangleweed--that was some horrible shit, and I know my band isn't the greatest, but geez, get a real job.
Home Shoddy Home
Fight Frisco: What the "Suburbatopia" article (by Jim Schutze, March 3) failed to mention is that the right to a civil trial by a jury is a right for all Americans provided by the Seventh Amendment to the Constitution of the United States.
Isn't it odd that elected officials, sworn to uphold the Constitution, have to be petitioned in order to bring the issue up to a vote?
What the Beckas are doing is fighting for our rights, which the Texas home-building industry has been allowed to waive with a single signature.
Can you imagine if the builders decided to waive your right to own a gun if you purchased their home? I think Charlton Heston would be coming to their defense.
The Beckas are doing a great thing for Frisco, and only when a home buyer has a construction defect will they know just how much they are helping.
John R. Cobarruvias
Homeowners Against Deficient Dwellings